


After All These Years

by notbadfortheendoftheworld



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-05 03:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17911259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notbadfortheendoftheworld/pseuds/notbadfortheendoftheworld
Summary: Bucky Barnes returns home from the war to find out his family and friends have been mourning him for two years... they believed he was dead.But that's not the only problem... his childhood sweetheart has moved on and is about to get married.





	1. Chapter 1

**September 3 rd 1945**

The war is over.

Finally _._

Bucky Barnes holds his hand against his chest as he sits in the back of the moving vehicle with the remaining men of the 107th. In the four years since he was shipped out to England from New York he’s witnessed soldiers die in the most horrific ways ever known to man. He’s watched strangers turned allies blow to pieces in front of his very own eyes, succumb to fatal shot wounds or die of lack of nutrition and diseases. He still has flashbacks and nightmares, making him indomitable to sleep. His mind still questions the angst of how he’s still breathing and why he gets to see another sunrise and fall. He believes it’s because he’s acquainted to the suffering and violence around him that maybe he’s worse off living. Death sounds peaceful, tranquil. Four years at war can change you.

His fingers are holding the metal dog tags around his neck with his full name James Buchanan Barnes imprinted across them along with his title: sergeant. He hates that term, despises it. He was like any of the other innocent men out there fighting for their country and putting their lives on the line. He was nothing more or powerful. He was only human. The agonising thoughts of how families have lost fathers, sons, husbands, brothers, nephews and uncles consume him. He needs clarification that he’s actually almost home right now and not dreaming back at camp because that’s what he used to do; dream of being home with family and friends. Being happy and content. Feeling safe and secure. He hasn’t felt that way in a while and he knows it won’t come easy after his years at war. But what he does know, what’s he got faith in, is recovery. He has a second chance at life, a giving that many others were robbed of. He’s grateful, truly, and he cannot wait to return to the smiles of his ma and pa and feel their embrace of love as they hold him in their arms and sob tears of joy that he’s made it home in one piece. He cannot wait to see Rebecca, his little sister who was only four when he left. She’ll be eight years old now, taller, older and probably blonder. He wonders if she’ll recognise him because he surely doesn’t recognise himself.

The sky is grey and the rain is faint but heavy enough to soak your clothes thoroughly. Bucky’s heading up the path of his childhood home, holding his remaining belongings in the satchel hanging over his shoulder. He’s wearing his uniform proudly just like the day he left all this behind. But now he’s back, scrawnier and less of the man he used to be. How can he enter his home and expect his family to accept this new downgraded version? Perhaps he would be better off dead, at least then he wouldn’t have to live up to his old expectations and deal with the aftermath of the war. It’s shaken him completely and forged an unknown presence in his mind. He just wants the sweet smell of his ma’s homemade apple pie and the soft tender kisses from her lips against his cheek. He wants his old life back. He wants his old self back.

The stairs are scuffed as he walks up them with a heavy heart, pulling on the strap of his bag as he gets adjacent to the door. His chest feels a little tight and his mouth is becoming dry. He can do this. Everything will be fine once he’s walked through the door and his family see him. But something feels off, like there’s something seriously wrong. He hasn’t heard from them in over two years, no mail or photos. Nothing. His family would know he’d be coming home today, they would have been informed, so why aren’t they already outside, waiting on the ground for him? Perhaps they’re inside waiting to surprise him because of the rain. Bucky doesn’t want a surprise. He doesn’t want people to congratulate him. War isn’t an accomplishment. Men have died. Thousands of innocent men. And Bucky would have been one of them if not for the sacrifice of soldiers who never gave up on him. The howling commandos—a bunch of men who were lively throughout the whole of the bloodshed—kept him sane and alive. They took care of him like he was family, making sure he ate and drank and was able to keep his strength. They had his back in times of need, even threw themselves in front of him during the gunfire to keep him safe when out on the front line. He is entirely indebted to them for the rest of his life.

Bucky’s hand shakes nervously against the doorknob as he turns it, hearing it unlatch from the lock. He hesitates momently then inhales thickly as he pushes it inward. The smell of home hits him hard and his blue eyes are lacing with tears. Everything is suddenly coming back to him now, hitting him in a sudden rush. He can hear the sound of the radio distinctly in the kitchen and as he lets his boots trail the hollow floor, his whole body tenses in panic and fear as he listens to loud ringing screams pulse through his ears. He drops his satchel to the floor, holding his fingers to his eardrums as his mother screams. He knows straight away it’s not a happy and excited scream, it’s a shocked and terrified scream, like she’s in disbelief of what she’s witnessing. He’s heard plenty of them over the years. Maybe it’s because he’s no longer the twenty-four year old guy she last seen as he headed out the door after being drafted. Maybe it’s because his dark hair is longer now, hanging above his shoulders with a kink, or maybe it’s the thick stubble across his cheekbones and jaw. It has to be, he thinks. He’s no longer that boy. He’s a man now. A man who has had so much suffering and distraught that the lines across his face could map out the years of pain he’s encountered.

The silence is deafening for a short while when his ma has closed her lips and rests her shaking hands to her mouth. Her grey eyes are narrowing at him, observing the stranger she created that stands across from her in the doorway of their house. Not a single word is spoken between them. They just stare at each other, tears falling down their pale cheeks.

“Ma,” Bucky’s voice shakes as he breaks the silence around them. “I’m home.” He has his arms open wide, expecting nothing more than for her small frame to run into them, but when that doesn’t happen and there’s a bellowing commotion hustling through the door behind her, Bucky breaks inside. His little sister stands beside their mother, taller and fairer, her long blonde hair tucked neatly behind her ears. Her blue eyes are scowling at him, like she trying to understand who he is and what he’s doing here. “Rebecca?” His voice cracks now and there’s a throb in his gut. She’s grown up so beautiful and resembles their ma so much it’s preposterous.

“James.” Winifred Barnes’s words are low, like a painful muffle escaping her lips. “No, no. It can’t be.” Her vision is blurry through the tears swelling her eyes.

“It’s me, ma,” Bucky assures her. “It’s really me. I’m here. I’m home.” Home. The word sounds foreign to him as it rolls from his tongue. Where exactly is home? It’s no longer the shelters and uncomfortable beds. It’s no longer the sounds of bombs exploding around him and men screaming out in pain. Home is home, where his family are, where he grew up. Home is right in front of him.

“Sweetheart.” Winifred is slowly approaching him, uncertainty in her step. She cannot believe he’s really here, standing in front of her, skinnier and older. “But…” her voice trails off as she stares up at him through her lashes. Her trembling hands grip his forearms, steadying herself as she scoots closer. It’s him. It’s really him. “You’re real.”

“I’m real, ma.” He’s embracing her into a secure hug, wrapping his arms tightly around her fragile frame, hoping she doesn’t break in his grasp. He can smell the peppermint of her hair and he’s warmly smiling against her shoulder as he nuzzles his face into her. Ma, Bucky thinks. It’s the only word that is looping around his frantic mind right now. _Ma_.

Winfred is latching on to her only son like he’s going to slip away any moment. She can’t lose him, not again. She can’t go through that horrendous pain and let herself sink back into depression. She’s only just recovering for mourning his death. “You died.” Her words are low against his chest. “I lost you.”

“No, ma,” Bucky replies, keeping her close to him for his own fragile state. “I didn’t die. I’m alive. I’m breathing. I survived the war.” He can feel her sobs against him and her whole body shakes. “It’s okay, ma. I’m okay.” He’s not mentally or emotionally stable, not really, but he’s physically, and that’s a blessing. He isn’t missing limbs or bones. He’s intact.

“I received a letter,” she tells him, her eyes now glossy and alert. She’s staring directly at him. “I was informed that you had died on the battlefield.”

Bucky’s scowling, not accepting the words that are stinging his heart. He’s confused and bewildered at the fact. “When were you given this misinformation, ma?”

“August 1943.”

Two years and one month ago. His mother has believed he he’s been dead for two years. His hands are shaking intensely now and he can’t control his breathing. How did his ma manage to survive that dreadful news? He can’t accept the fact of the pain she suffered while he was gone. If only he knew of the misunderstanding and was able to reach her. He should have continued to write to her even when he never received any mail from her. He should have let her know he was alive, reassured her he was breathing and that he would continue to do so until he got back to America.

 

Since his return home, Bucky has been in and out of daydreams, trying to come to terms with how much has changed in the four years since he’s been gone. His pa isn’t home as he’s out of town with friends, something to do with the war ending. Bucky doesn’t ask much. He stays sitting on the chair next to the open fire, staring blankly at the brick wall across from him. His bones are cold and there’s a chill in the air even though the fire is blazing. He’s stripped from his soldier uniform and into a pair of old black slacks with a grey sweater that his ma had taken from his pa’s items. His long fingers are tapping frantically against his knees. He feels like he needs to do something, anything to occupy his mind. Sitting for almost an hour is driving him up the wall. He’s agitated. He thought he’d feel some sort of relaxation once home but so far all he wants to do is run far away and keep moving without looking back.

He squints at the loud clang echoing from the kitchen. He’s still shaken from the loud eruptions that he used to hear on a daily basis. He isn’t used to the peacefulness surrounding him. He stands suddenly, grabbing the oversized jacket from the door and gliding it over his body. He runs out into the dismal evening without looking back. If there is one person who’s going to be happy to see he’s alive, it’s going to be his best friend Steve Rogers. He’ll find a way to relax him, to assure him he’s safe. He’s missed him dearly. Steve has always been important to Bucky in ways he can’t confess aloud. They’ve been best friends since childhood but ever since Steve’s sixteenth birthday party, something changed between the two of them. They shared a secret kiss in the corner of Steve’s bedroom when they were alone at the night. It enlightened something in both of them, sparking feelings they never knew existed. They knew it was wrong of them to do what only a man and woman should, but they couldn’t help it. If they were ever found out then they’d be in a lot of trouble.

Their whole lives changed from that day on. They used to sneak down alleys to steal secret kisses or sit out by the river in the summertime to play fight, but it wasn’t actually fighting, it was a way for their bodies to touch and burn together in public without them being shamed. Bucky felt the adrenaline a little too much one summer’s day and lent down to peck a kiss on Steve’s lips, only to realise they were surrounded by strangers who were sharing picnics and walking dogs. He had to shake himself out of it and sit by Steve, letting his hand slowly rest over his as he steadied his breaths. He never wanted anything in his whole life more than Steve. It was empowering and it was his protective instincts to always look out for him. Steve wasn’t the average teenage boy as he was only five foot four and skinny as hell with a long list of health problems who seemed to always get into fights and conflicts.

Bucky remembers a few nights after Steve turned eighteen when he fell really ill. Pneumonia he was diagnosed and spent a few days in hospital until he was finally allowed home. It had scared Bucky so much that he spent every day by Steve’s bedside until he had to be told to go home by Sarah, Steve’s ma. Once Steve was home, Bucky used to climb into his bedroom, his legs long enough to push himself through the unlocked window of Steve’s apartment. He’d climb into Steve's bed after stripping and cradle Steve into his chest, keeping him warm with his body heat, overlapping his arms around his back and intertwining their thighs together. He stayed there all night till the sun rose and he knew he had to go back home. But knowing Steve was safe and warm and able to look after himself was all Bucky cared about.

It’s been four years since he last seen him, since they last shared a secret kiss and held each other close. Bucky didn’t know how he was going to manage without Steve by his side. When he got drafted the whole fear of him not being able to protect Steve from danger made him nauseated. What if Steve ended up in trouble? What if Steve fell ill again only this time he wasn’t able to keep his cold body warm? What if Steve died and he wasn’t there to say his final goodbye? It kept him awake for the first few weeks at war, the constant anxiety probing at his mind. All he had to remember Steve by was the photo of them from his eighteenth birthday and memories they had shared together. But even that wasn’t enough. He needed Steve’s tender kisses against his neck, the warmth of his fingers caressing his jaw, and the tangling of their bodies under the sheets as they talked and laughed about everything. The only positive thing Bucky could think of was how Steve was lucky enough not to be enrolled to fight. That made him a little less tense because there was no way Steve Rogers would survive the front line and Bucky didn’t know if he would survive his death.

The path to Steve’s apartment is the same as Bucky has always remembered it; short and narrow. There are children playing out in the wet day, families celebrating that the war is over and they’ve won. There are soldiers adjusting to their old lives as they return home and try to forget about what has happened and all the suffering they have been through. Bucky knows it’s not as easy as it sounds and understands their angst. He wishes time will just stop so he can pace himself for all that he’s missed. His blue eyes are skittering around the buildings when he reads the front of the newspaper that’s stuck to the sidewalk below him: _The war is over!_

Bucky’s heart is hammering against his ribs as he reaches Steve’s apartment. He’s realising now that if his ma had believed he was dead then it’s certain Steve believed it too. How is he supposed to do this? Knock on and wait for Steve to open the door and then scream like his ma? Does he expect Steve to pull him into a hug and hold him so tight that the world around them could carry on Bucky wouldn’t care?

He inhales deeply and lets his knuckles bang on the door, vibrating his hand. He waits and waits, until he hears the chain being drew back and then a young dark haired woman is standing in his view.

“Hello.” Her British accent is strong and sweet. Her dark eyes are smudged with a light shadow and her full lips are painted a dark red. Her pale complex blushes a little as she stands amid in the doorway.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky begins, scratching his temple in confusion, “I have the wrong apartment.” He has the right apartment but it’s been four years. Maybe Steve has finally moved from this hellhole and found somewhere more content and homely. “Sorry.” Bucky turns on his shoes heel only to feel the goose bumps prickle every inch of his flesh as he hears the familiar voice call from behind the woman.

“Just someone mixing up apartments,” she shouts back.

Bucky wants to push her out of the way and run into the apartment to Steve. He wants to grab his face in his hands and kiss him so softly, let him know he’s missed him extremely.

“Ah, did you ask them who they’re looking for?” Steve Rogers pulls the door to his apartment wide as he stands behind his fiancé Peggy Carter. His blue eyes widen at the familiar face with extra hair in front of him and his whole body droops, the warmth running wild through his bloodstream, panic sturdy in his gut. “Bucky.” His voice cracks and there are tears pushing their way past his eyes. Bucky, his first kiss, his first love, is standing in front of him, older and mature. Steve doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know how to speak. Bucky was dead. He remembers the day he received the news from Winifred and fell to the floor, clutching his heart in his hands as he sobbed uncontrollably. He lost his best friend, his home within his home. He lost the boy he fell in love with.

“Steve.” Bucky’s hands are clasping over his mouth. The man standing in front of him isn’t the same boy he once pinned against the wall as he kissed him. He isn’t the same boy he picked up when he couldn’t run all the way home through his asthma. No. This isn’t the same boy at all. This is a man with the same blue eyes and ridiculously long lashes that Bucky has always envied. His face is fuller and his blond hair shorter. He’s taller, much taller, and broader. Bucky swallows hastily. He doesn’t blink. He can’t blink. It’s Steve, but it’s not _his_ Steve. He has his face but he doesn’t have his body. He’s standing at least the same height as him and it’s not right. Bucky has always been taller than Steve and he loved it when Steve would stand on his tip toes to try to reach Bucky’s lips when he begged for a kiss. Steve was a small fragile boy who had no muscle whatsoever yet the man in front of him is hefty and thick. The blue shirt he wears is creasing at the arms and there’s a hollow gap at the hem, revealing a lot of flesh and a strong collar bone. Bucky can feel the heat burning under his cheeks and he’s suddenly flushed. His eyes meet Steve’s now and straight away he’s reliving his teenage years all over. Those eyes have always felt secure and comforting. Those are Steve’s eyes. This is Steve standing in front of him. He’s grown up so handsome and strong and Bucky feels lightheaded. He wants to touch him, let the brush of his fingertips stroke the softness of his skin and let his lips trail kisses across his neck and shoulders. He wants to be back in his arms only this time they are strong enough to keep him safe instead.

“I’m confused,” Peggy suddenly says, distracting Steve and Bucky’s presence. “I thought Bucky died.”

“So did I.” Before Steve can stop himself, he’s walking out of his apartment and letting his warm hands cup Bucky’s jaw of stubble. “Bucky.”

“Steve.” Bucky’s crying now, his hands reaching out for Steve’s shirt, gripping it between his fists. “It’s me.”

Steve doesn’t reply. He just pulls Bucky adjacent to him, embracing him into a strong hug, holding him like he's never held anyone before. He inhales the old smell of sweetness from Bucky’s hair and nuzzles his face into the nape of his neck. His hands are pressing into the arch of his back and he’s lifting him a little from the ground. He sniffles his tears away and keeps him close. Bucky is here. Bucky is alive. Bucky is home. He feels the pain emerge in his heart suddenly as his eyes spring open. He doesn’t want to accept the thoughts running wild in his mind right now but he doesn’t have a choice. He’s getting married in two weeks. Everything he once felt for his best friend seems to have risen back to the surface, rattling him from the inside, and warning him to back off. He can’t allow this subtle moment of ecstasy to fog his mind. Bucky died. Steve mourned and moved on. Now he’s in love with someone else.

Bucky’s feet touch the floor as Steve loosens his physical contact and he gazes up at him with a warm smile. He inhales the safety from Steve’s physique and then his hands are against his face. “I missed you.”

“Bucky,” Steve’s voice lowers. “I thought you were dead.”

“I thought you were smaller.” A glimpse of a smile curves his lips and then vanishes when he acknowledges Steve shift a little uncomfortable. His eyes flicker to the dark haired British girl again and then it suddenly hits him. He drops his hands from Steve’s face and shoves them into the pockets of his slacks. What is this sudden emotional pain he’s dealing with right now? Of course he can’t blame Steve for moving on. It’s been four years. Not only that, he believed he died. Bucky can’t expect Steve to stay single. “I’m sorry.”

“I thought I lost you,” Steve says tentatively and then his lips tweak. “Look at you.” His fingers poke Bucky’s broad chest and then they run through the bottom of his dark hair. Bucky’s tensing inside. “You’ve changed.”

“So have you. You’re bigger, stronger and taller.” He wants to say even more handsome but knows his boundaries.

Steve wants to ask Bucky about the war, to get to know everything he went through and how he managed four years out there. He wants to cuddle up with him on the sofa just like old times and catch up with each other’s lives. But he can’t do that now.

“Why don’t you come inside?” Peggy asks Bucky with a soft smile. “I’m guessing you’ve been through so much. Would you like tea?”

Bucky’s shaking his head when he really wants to scream yes. He wants to go inside but only with Steve. He wants to make love to him for all the years they’ve lost. He wants to hold him in his arms and run his fingers through his hair. He wants to be able run back into Steve’s arms and carry on where they left off, but he knows it’s not possible. “My ma is probably wondering where I disappeared to. Thank you, doll.”

“Peggy,” Peggy smiles at him.

“I had to see you,” Bucky says to Steve, his hands eager to touch him again. “I’m glad I did.”

Steve’s sniffling now, his knuckles rubbing his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re really here, Buck. It doesn’t feel real.”

“It’s real,” he assures him. “I’m real.”

Steve nods. Bucky is real indeed. Some part of him wants to take his hand in his and get out of here, maybe head to a deserted alley so they can share a passionate kiss without being judged just like they used to. He shakes the illicit thoughts from his mind. He can’t think about Bucky like that anymore. He’s getting married to Peggy. “I’ll call around to see you,” he tells him and rests his hand on his shoulder and squeezes lightly. “To check up on you.”

“I’d like that,” Bucky confesses. He’d like that a lot. In fact he can’t wait to get home so Steve will come around and check on him. The thought of them being alone together sends shivers through his whole body and prickles the hairs on the back of his neck. “It’s good to see you, Steve.”

“It’s good to see you too, Buck.” Steve drops his hand and regrets it immediately. He watches as Bucky waves goodbye and turns around then disappears. His heart is reaching out, and he’s on the urge to chase after him, but he doesn’t, because Peggy is slipping her hand into his, pulling him back into their home. “Bucky’s alive.” He hears the words loud as they escape his mouth and then it hits him. Bucky is alive and he's back in his life. All the years he's spent grieving over him were for nothing because he's alive. And _he's home_.


	2. Chapter 2

“Get up, soldier!”

Bucky’s ears are ringing loudly as he’s scuffling around the mud and dirt. He’s trying to gather himself together, becoming aware of his surroundings. He’s out on the battlefield and has been for three days. His heart his hammering rapidly and he’s struggling to breathe, but before he can catch a breath, he’s forcefully threw across the ground, eyes rolling to the back of his head. He collides forcefully with the surface and he’s panicking. He should have moved faster. He can’t afford to dawdle. He can’t afford to be effortlessly clumsy and jeopardise the whole mission. He should have moved faster as soon as Dugan had bellowed at him. Now he’s lying on the floor in the dark, gripping his left arm as it twinges in discomfort. It’s broken, he’s sure of it. The pain is rippling through him like that time his pa was trying to teach him how to ride a bike and he fell and crushed his arm under his body weight. It’s broken. He can’t move it.

Bucky screams out in horrific pain and then he feels the weight of hands on his shoulders, hauling him along the dirt. He’s gritting his teeth hard together trying to contain his cries.

“I got you.”

Bucky’s blue eyes glance up at the hushed voice above him that belongs to the person pulling him away from the war zone. Under the orange glow of fire sparking in the air, he recognises the long nose and busy brows of his sweetheart. He’s keeping him close, ushering him from the obnoxious crowd of men who are fighting for their country. “Steve?” His muffle voice is low and he’s trying to read the expression on Steve’s face like a compass. “How are you here?”

Steve’s lips slightly curve and then once they’re away from the blows and hidden in the shadows of trees, he replies, “Did you honestly think I’d let you come to war without me?” His hand brushes away the dark hair tousled across Bucky’s sweaty and dirty forehead as his eyes soften toward him. “Hell, no. We’re in this together, Buck. Till the end of the line.”

Bucky can feel the warmth swirling inside the pit of his stomach, relaxing him like an anaesthetic. He’s reaching his right hand out to touch Steve’s face, to trace the lines of his mouth with the tips of his fingers. Just like he did back home when they were younger and full of life. Bucky had said that one summer to Steve that he was with him till the end of the line. He promised that no matter what happened between them, whether they ended up separated or worlds apart, that he was with him. He’d circle his finger across Steve’s bare chest over his heart and swear to God above that nothing or no one would ever come between them. “‘Cause I’m with you till the end of the line,” Bucky would whisper to Steve with a warm smile. He meant those words. They were their “forever and always” without holy matrimony. They were their promise of eternity.

Bucky shuffles as the happy thought resurfaces in his mind. He wishes they were back there, in that one moment, holding each other and promising forever. But they’re not. They’re lying beside each other on a field at war, surrounded by nothing but a dark sky and the distant sounds of crickets and mild explosions. But Steve never went to war. He was rejected by military services through his health.

“I’m sorry.” Steve’s voice is sudden and sincere. “For moving on so fast.”

Bucky’s brows are furrowing, confused by his words. He’s trying to turn on his side but the pain in his arm is stopping him. “What do you mean?”

Steve’s eyes meet Bucky’s and there’s an instant hollow of emptiness behind them. “I should have waited and had faith you’d return to me, but I was eager. Eager to forget the pain of you. So I didn’t have a choice but to put you behind me and move on with my life.”

Bucky squirms subtly in discomfort at the words breaking his heart. Steve forgot about him, that’s all that’s processing his unstable mind right now. Steve pushed him to the back of his brain and never thought about him again. It was like he never existed, like _they_ never existed. But they did exist and so perfectly together too. “I forgive you, Steve,” Bucky timidly replies. He will always forgive him. “I understand why you did it. You had to move on and to be able to do so you had to forget about me.” The words sting as he speaks them aloud and he’s on the brink of tears. It must have been extremely hard for Steve to just forget about him because he had so many memories to forget. Bucky was never just a friend or a lover to Steve. He was much more than that. What they had was hard to find and definitely hard to lose. They had history together and not even the books could fit it all in. They were two bodies with one soul, connected by feelings and emotions. They loved each other even when they tried to deny it to themselves. They were destined to be by the universe and no one should ever go against the universe.

Bucky struggles to sit but manages to do so. His head’s heavy and he’s feeling a little lethargic. When was the last time he eaten? When was the last time he slept? He can’t remember. He can’t remember anything right now. All his mind is concentrating on is Steve, and suddenly he’s disappeared from Bucky’s side. The night sky is aglow with burning trenches and bodies. Screams of pain echo around the air and Bucky is clutching his broken arm to his chest. He’s going to die. He’s never going to see his family or Steve again. He’s going to die at war and there is nothing he can do about it.

“Come on, soldier.”

Bucky’s eyes are drooping and he’s weak, very weak. He can hear Dugan shouting above him and he’s hauling his body with struggle. He wants to tell him to stop, that there’s no point and to just leave him to deteriorate, but when he sees the blur of Steve’s face, his eyes spring open and he’s throwing himself up from below.

There’s a loud curling scream escaping his mouth and it’s bellowing from the walls of his childhood bedroom. He’s sweaty, heart beating rapidly, head a little woozy. He’s taking in his surroundings. He isn’t at war. He’s at home _. It was a nightmare_.

The door to his bedroom flings opens and in the dark he can hear his ma’s sniffles and then her low voice. “James?”

“It’s okay, ma,” he assures her, guilt brewing in his mind of having woken her up at whatever time in the middle of the night it is. “Go back to sleep.”

Winifred does the opposite. She perches on the edge of the twin bed and takes her son’s shaking hands in hers. “I’m here.”

He tightens his grip around her palms and inhales thickly. He understands why he had another nightmare because everything today has overwhelmed him. After seeing Steve everything has intensified. He just wishes he was in his arms right now, holding him for support and safety, but Steve is probably wrapped in the arms of Peggy, and that makes Bucky sick with envy. He’s back home from war after years and finally sleeping in comfort. As soon as his head the pillow he was out. It was pure bliss and he can’t describe how much sleep felt like a privilege that he missed over the years. It’s his bed. It’s the smell of home across his sheets and the softness of his pillow.

He’s calming down now, the beat of his heart steady and no longer loud in his ears. “Thanks, ma,” he softly says. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be okay.”

Winifred stands after a moment and then pecks a long kiss to his forehead. “I love you,” she says against him and then departs the bedroom.

Bucky stays sitting, his back now slouching against the wall, his feet shaking in angst. How can he possibly get a few more hours of sleep before sunrise? His brain won’t cooperate and he’s one hundred percent sure that as soon as his eyes close he’s going to be trapped inside the terror of his years at war and the pretty blue eyes of Steve Rogers.

 

The smell of his ma’s home cooking wanders in the air, tightening the knot in Bucky’s stomach. He’s missed this. He hasn’t eaten since she prepared him a meal last night. He takes subtle sips of his water from the glass and then stares blankly at it as he holds it in his hand. He circles his finger along the condensation and wets his fingertips. He watches it dribble down his fingers and soak into the creases. His pa will return home today after attending a funeral of a family friend. Bucky’s stomach turns as his ma tells him and he can’t help but question the obvious. “Did you have a funeral for me?”

Winifred pauses in her step, tucking the washcloth into her hand. She doesn’t turn to look at her son because she can feel her bottom lip trembling. “We didn’t have a body to bury.”

 “What about a service? Something to remember me by?” He’s curious to know how they said goodbye to him and remembered him for the person he used to be and not the soldier he became. Maybe he’s prying too much because he acknowledges how his ma is suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. “I’ve attended several services. Only small ones as I never had the time to actually say words, only to stare down at the corpse of a man I knew and respect him for his sacrifice.” He sips his water again, feeling the moisture against his dry lips. “I lost people, ma. Too many.” He wishes he didn’t know the intense pain of grief and loss. He wishes he never befriended soldiers so their loss wouldn’t mean anything to him. But out there was a whole different world. He was alone and the only friends he was ever gonna have were in the same position as him. He never knew if he’d make it home alive so making new friends wasn’t really a choice. The howling commandos were his first real friends and Dugan was extremely caring and generous. They had a Captain but lost him to gunfire a few days prior to Bucky joining them. They had been at war for a year longer than Bucky and had left three months before Bucky returned home. He wonders about them, about where they are right now, how they’re coping and dealing with life in a whole different view. Maybe he can locate them and visit them one day. Maybe he can finally thank them for everything.

His thoughts are pleasantly interjected as Rebecca ambles into the kitchen with a kind smile on her face. Bucky hasn’t spoke to her properly yet because he doesn’t know how to. He feels like a stranger to the girl who shares his blood. It’s painfully heart breaking. “Steve is here, ma,” she casually says as she approaches them ma.

Bucky is on his feet, startling his family. He doesn’t speak. He can’t speak. His mouth has all of a sudden gone dry and his thumbs are twitching. Steve is here. He walks carefully out of his kitchen and into the living room where it’s vacant except for the ticking of the clock on the wall beside him. As he pushes his step to the door, he gazes out into the looming morning to see Steve standing by the bottom of the scuffed steps, his hands in his dark blond hair. He seems to be on edge like he’s trying to gather himself together. Bucky opens the door and steps out confidently, gathering Steve’s full attention. Their eyes meet and Bucky is trembling inside, the longing to step down and kiss him is growing with each second. He drops his eyes to the floor, tapping his fingers against his pants.

Steve doesn’t know what to say. Yesterday their _reunion_ was rushed and nothing of how he had ever imagined it. Steve had always pictured Bucky returning from the war with a limb mission or something and him being able to sweep him off his feet and tell him how proud he is of him. But that was before Bucky had died, regardless he actually died or not. Steve didn’t know any different. He spent months curled up his bedroom, sobbing into his pillow, praying for Bucky to come back. He had wished for Bucky to return to him so they could be together, and his wish has been granted, but there’s a minor problem; Steve is unavailable. He realises the true saying of “be careful what you wish for because you just might get it” because he got it. He got what he wished for and it’s standing right in front of him. His lips tremble as he tries to speak but staring at Bucky, taking in the stubble across his jaw and the extra length of hair behind his ears. It’s like staring at a different person but with the exact same loving eyes and caring heart. “Yesterday,” Steve says, stepping closer to the steps, hesitating to head up them. “I should have begged you not to go.” He inhales the fresh morning air surrounding them. “I should have took you in, made sure you were okay, and had a heart to heart conversation. We were best friends, Buck, and I thought you were dead. I should have been more caring and less afraid. I was in complete shock when I saw you standing there, like I was having a dream and you weren’t real.”

Bucky just nods at his words, but hearing him speak makes him feel warm inside. He’s missed the soothing of Steve’s voice. He’s missed the beauty of him too, and now he’s even more beautiful. “What happened to you?” He can’t stop the words rolling from his tongue.

Steve frowns but then a smile teases his lips. “Well, I finally grew up. Gained weight and realised that I am not my illnesses and I am in control of my own body.” He’s walking up the steps now. “But this isn’t about me. This is about you. You’re here.”

“I’m here.” His hands are reaching out now for Steve to grab them with his own and he does, securing them against his solid chest. This feels good. It’s awakening all the emotions Bucky’s hidden over the years, hiding his true identity, shielding himself from who he really is inside. He wishes right now that they could go back to that, back to what they once were; in love. They could sneak off to his bedroom like they did as teens and hold each other tightly, stealing kisses under the sheets. He’s never been certain of anything in his entire life, but right now he’s certain of this. He’s certain of them. “Till the end of the line,” he finds himself saying.

Steve’s face is flushed pink and he’s nodding. “Always, Buck.” He pulls him into him, wrapping his strong arms around Bucky’s fragile body. He relaxes in content as he feels Bucky’s arms around him, his hands resting against his upper back. “I never thought I’d hold you in my arms again.”

“I never thought it’d feel this good to be the one who’s smaller. Now I know why you always liked to hold me for longer than necessary.” He smiles against Steve’s chest as he hears him chuckle. There’s a warm breath against his earlobe and he’s pulling his head back, exposing the nape of his neck, wanting Steve to place his lips there, but he never does. It makes him feel desperate and Bucky hates desperation, but that’s what he is. He’s desperate for the touch of Steve. He wants to be a teenager again when they were fooling around and sneaking out of their homes at five in the morning just to sit on the grass to catch the sunrise over the East River. He wishes times were that simple again when the only fear they had was being caught by their parents.

They stand hugging for a while, holding each other in their arms with their minds running wild. It brings back memories of when they were younger and they’d hug each other in front of family and friends as if they were only friends, but they'd whisper sentences down each other’s ears that made their secret even more scandalous and exciting. They felt invincible.

“Bucky,” Steve’s words are low against Bucky’s shoulder, his hands gripping the back of his shirt between his fingers, keeping him adjacent as if he’s gonna fall from his grip if he dares to let go of him.

“Steve,” Bucky exhales and he nuzzles his face deeper into his neck. He can small the fresh scent of soap against his skin and it’s drowning him. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

Steve doesn’t want to say that he wasn’t going to come at first because he was afraid of feelings scorching highly and leaving him in a conflict of what or who he truly wants. He was going to remain home and call around in the next two weeks before his wedding. He didn’t need distractions because his mind was already contemplating the right choice, shouting it at him every time a blur of Bucky’s handsome face and safe smile appeared in his head. Steve tries to tame his nerves but he can’t. He’s so nervous right now and it’s terrifying him. He’s scared he’s going to ruin this, them, all over again. Just like he did before Bucky left for war. He’s going to lose him again if he doesn’t talk to him. He can talk to Bucky. He’s his best friend.

Bucky refuses to step back when Steve loosen his grip around his upper body. He stays holding him as Steve removes himself and gives him a subtle smile. “I get it,” Bucky trembles, dropping his hands from Steve’s back. “You’re getting married.”

Steve’s blue eyes narrow and then he inhales shakily. “Your ma told you?”

Bucky nods. “We talked last night after I returned home from you. She said you met Peggy two years ago.” He can't help the words sting his chest and he’s trying to not let them break him but what can he expect? Steve had every right to move on. Bucky wouldn’t have expected him not to carry on with his life and fall in love again. He just wishes it wasn’t so soon. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is.” Steve’s lips close as he reads the uncertainty across Bucky’s face. “She reminds me a lot of you.”

Bucky doesn’t know whether to be flatter or offended. “Because I’m such a woman, right?”

Steve grins, nudging Bucky’s arm playfully with his own. “It’s the way she is,” he exclaims. “She cares deeply and always puts others before herself. She takes risks and loves dancing, though you never did.” He twists his lips, not wanting to compare Peggy to Bucky. “She just has a huge heart, Buck, and is understanding. She’s so sweet and honestly deserves so much happiness. Sometime I don’t feel worthy of her.”

It pains Bucky hearing Steve speak highly about another person the way he hoped he’d speak about him one day without the world judging them. He gets it though. Steve has always seen the pureness of peoples' souls and hearts before even looking at their faces. When it comes to women, Steve seems to get flushed and protective. The amount of times Bucky has had to drag his scrawny backside from brawls in the back alleys just because Steve thought it was acceptable to punch a guy—who happened to be ten times the size of him—all because he catcalled at a woman walking the sidewalks. He smirks on the thought. Steve may have been little but he sure as hell had a mean swing on him. Bucky did love that about him, the way Steve wouldn’t back down from anyone and stand his ground, but the only fault was he wasn’t physically able to hold a fight on his own for so long. Now as Bucky’s gazing at him, lost in his own mind, he wonders if he could hold down a fight. In fact, Bucky bets he could win. “I’m just happy you’re happy.” The words come out quickly and leave him a little puzzled. He didn’t mean to sound so bitter.

“I am happy, Buck,” Steve replies. “Even more happy now that you’re back.” He lets his knuckles brush Bucky’s as he steps closer. “Maybe we could all have dinner one day? Peggy has asked me to give you space and time as you’ve just returned home and want to readjust, but I’m eager to go back to the way we once were.” The words ignite his whole body inside and his blood burns within his veins. He honestly is eager to get back to being close with Bucky, to be the inseparable duo they once were, but there’s an hollow emptiness that can no longer be filled. That’s why he was hesitant to show up here today because there’s still this part of him longing for the feel of Bucky’s lips against his own, the warmth of their skin rubbing against each other as they fondle under the covers, and it terrifies him because he shouldn’t be thinking that way. He’s getting married and he could never hurt Peggy. He could never forgive himself if one day his emotions got the better of him and he ended up acting on them in a selfish way because he lost his self control. Just being here with Bucky is a risk, but deep down in his heart, he knows he’s not like that. He knows he wouldn’t ever actually get lost in the moment with Bucky and do unspeakable things behind Peggy’s back. He can trust himself, right? He’s a good person. Bucky is a friend. They can be _just_ friends. They’re not who they once were. They’re older and understand what’s at stake here. But every time Steve catches Bucky staring at him with a glimpse of hope behind his eyes and a hunger of desperation, Steve’s knees buckle and his chest throbs with a sickening amount of guilt. Maybe Bucky isn’t over him and maybe he isn’t over Bucky. And that’s where it’s going to get complicated in so many ways. Steve doesn’t like complications. He likes easy and smooth. Perhaps this was a bad idea coming here after all, but he had to see him. He had to hold him is his arms and know that yesterday wasn’t a dream. Bucky is here and he’s standing right in front of him with a tempting look upon his angelic face. Oh, no. Steve can feel the urge to lean forward and kiss him, to indulge into the taste of him that’s he’s been longing for ever since their last kiss four years ago. Ever since he walked away from him after their first fight. He tries to blur it from his mind, but it’s too powerful that it seems to creep up on him with a vengeance. He inhales the fresh air around him, feeling like the oxygen has evaporated. “I shouldn’t ask this but I need to,” he begins, startling Bucky. “Do you think about it? About what happened on the day you left? About what what we said?”

Bucky’s cheeks seem to draw in and he lifts his head. He knows exactly what Steve is talking about and he’s pushed it to the back of his mind over the years, never wanting to think about it again. The memory resurfacing has opened up old wounds and he’s becoming lightheaded all of a sudden. “We were angry at each other,” he says. “I let it go as soon as I headed to war. I only needed the good memories of us to get me through.”

“I shouldn’t have said what I did, Buck,” Steve cries, shaking his head. “I was out of order and I’m sorry. I hated the way I just left and I couldn’t even apologise because you were gone. I did write to you to tell you how sorry I was and how I wish I could take it all back.” His mouth trembles and he’s holding back the tears lacing his blue eyes.

“I got the letter,” Bucky assures him with a smile. “I read it every night until I lost it. I hated myself for being so clumsy and losing it. I wanted to write back but we ended up moving around and then the explosion happened and then…” he pauses, his eyes narrowing at the ground as he’s thinking deeply. “That’s why they thought I was dead.”

Steve’s listening carefully. He’s happy that Bucky received his letter and read it. It was driving him insane for years. “What happened?”

“We were caught off guard,” Bucky begins, his hands trembling nervously. “We were ambushed and before we could fight back, we were thrown across the ground like we were nothing but animals. I remember the ringing in my ears for several minutes once I brought myself around and realised what had happened. I thought I was deaf. I was helped by soldiers and we managed to get to the medics shortly after. But so many soldiers were in pieces around me. I remember seeing hands and legs and it made me physically weak, Steve. I wish I had died right there and then because I get flashbacks and nightmares. It’s draining.”

Steve’s holding Bucky by his upper arms now as he’s suddenly shaking. “Bucky, hey, I’m right here. Look at me.” He watches Bucky zone in and out for a while and then his eyes are blank. “Bucky. You’re home. You’re no longer at war.”

“They killed them,” Bucky says, staring up into the clouds above him. “They were just lying there, limbs missing and faces burnt off. The smell, Steve, the smell was horrendous. I can’t even describe it.” He’s crying now, breathless and frantic. “That could have been me. It _should_ have been me.”

Steve’s confronting Bucky as he pulls him back into his chest, his hands stroking his hair as he says, “You’re safe now, Buck. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Bucky doesn’t understand how he’s become so ecstatic suddenly. He was fine. He was talking to Steve and now he can’t shake the images of lifeless corpses from his mind. He can’t escape the terror that’s fogging him and all he wants to do is scream. His whole body is shaking against Steve’s and then he relaxes in tranquillity as he feels the soft brush of lips against the nape of his neck. It sends shivers running down his spine, prickling every inch of his skin in goose bumps. He’s suddenly levitating from the ground and his mind is peaceful. There’s no flashes of horror anymore. There’s nothing except for the secure embrace of Steve’s arms holding him down and the remedy of his kiss keeping him sane.


End file.
